


Spectrum

by GirlDressedInBlack



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:07:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27084631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlDressedInBlack/pseuds/GirlDressedInBlack
Summary: The Mistress thinks about the Doctor, the future and how they've both grown.
Kudos: 6
Collections: The Florence Collection





	Spectrum

The Mistress can remember when she first met Theta.

Even reeling from the vortex and the noises in her head she'd been able to pinpoint him in the crowd, clad in red and orange, hair messy, though there had been some effort to tidy it.

_Him._

The vortex in her head had screamed, all her knowledge of time and space stretched out.

She had seen for an instant the way their timelines entwined in her head and grimaced, shoved it aside, behind her young mental shields so that she could think clearly, enough to go over and introduce herself.

It had been so long since then.

Thinking back to the person she had been then is like looking at baby photos.

She can't remember anymore how things felt properly other than in overwhelming flashes of emotion and colour and light. Her mind was so young, so untried and untested.

Him too- he'd been so small and so unformed.

They've changed a lot to become who they are now.

Though it really isn't so much change as development. The people they used to be has just been magnified, edges worn away by the passage of time until they are truly themselves, whole and complete and shining.

She's proud of him.

She wishes they still had the closeness they did back then.

The Mistress longs to feel her arms around him and to just lie back in the long grass and talk- the way they had as kids. Her head on his chest and his arms out, gangly body pressed to gangly body.

He'd protected her, saved her, killed another child for her.

It's difficult to forget that.

She'd done what she could for him but he was always more rebellious in the loud way.

Subterfuge had always been her domain, following the chaotic path that had been spelled out for her at birth.

It's only now, that she has followed her road beyond all the times it should have ended, past the myriad of ends that the vortex had told her, and into the unpredictable, unspoken future, that she feels calm.

She wishes to work alongside him again, like they had in the academy and countless fleeting times since.

The Mistress sits on the piano lid, preserved in this underground tomb, and thinks about all the good they could do.

She thinks about the countless times that she's offered to rule the universe with him and knows how true and good that thought is.

It's hers, completely and utterly.

Sure he has never agreed with the ways that she said it but she knows that he understands what she's really asking, is afraid of it, of responsibility, of messing up.

The Doctor is scared of failure, scared to lead. She can agree to do smaller good things, if that pleases him, though she sees it as pointless when you can get rid of the problem instead of just trying to solve it.

They have so long now anyway and she has nothing to look towards, no future, what does it hurt her to try things his way?

She thinks about the way he says her name and feels warm, breath catching, hearts beating loud.

Master or Mistress or Missy, it doesn't matter.

His words, his voice, his presence. Nothing could be more important to her than that.

She thinks about rooting out the daleks, finally getting rid of them for real.

She thinks about destroying all the cybermen, all the slitheen, all the bad things which hurt good people, all the bogeymen of the universe. She thinks about wiping them out systematically, one-by-one.

The dust falls through a gap in the door, spear of light caught through it where she had pushed through herself. Ivy creeps in beneath it, claiming back the small room and something skitters across the ground, crunching the fallen leaves under tiny feet.

The motes are beautiful as they fall, individual pieces of things long forgotten, so small and insignificant that they can be brushed aside without any effort, by simply existing in the same space.

They shine, like earthbound stars.

The Mistress shifts, hears the creak of old hinges, care for them lapsed long ago.

She's been here for a long time now, waiting for the Doctor's return, going to the only place she could think of to find him.

She hopes that one day the door will creak open just a little more and she'll hear her name again in whatever voice he has.

That's all she hopes.


End file.
